The Complication (The Program #6)(28)

“But what if my grandparents were right?” I ask. “What if it had knocked something loose in my head? Caused a crashback? What if that’s happening to me now, and I don’t even realize it?”

“I won’t let you crash,” Nathan says like it’s something he can stop through sheer will. “Do you trust me?”

I wait an extra second before nodding at him. “Yeah,” I say.

“Good.”

Nathan and I survey the house for a moment, and then he groans and says he has to study for his math test. He gives me a greasy high five and begins to walk away. Before he crosses onto his front lawn, his hair blowing in the wind, he turns back to me.

“I am curious about something,” he says in a low voice. “Did The Program take any of our memories? Anything between us?” For the first time, I see vulnerability in Nathan’s eyes. The idea that he could be erased from my memory scaring him. Invalidating him.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “but I really wouldn’t remember.”

He smiles sadly at this. “I guess you wouldn’t. Still holds true that I’m your healthiest relationship.”

I laugh and agree that he probably is.

“Let me know if your Jeep starts in the morning, Dale Earnhardt,” he says.

“That honestly doesn’t even make sense,” I say.

“Told you I’m not a car guy.” And he turns around and walks to his house while I test out the new battery.





CHAPTER TWELVE


THE HOUSE IS QUIET WHEN I go back inside from the garage. I wash my hands, and when I’m done, I find my grandparents in the living room, the TV volume too low to understand. The picture glitches and pauses.

“How did it go?” Pop asks.

It takes me a second to realize he’s talking about the battery. “Oh, good,” I say. “I put it in and started her up. Still sounds like crap, but that was expected.”

He laughs. Next to him, my gram smiles at me.

“Do you want to sit and watch a show with us?” she asks. “Although with this storm, I’m not sure how long we’ll have satellite.”

I look out the front window just as another flash and rumble tear through the sky.

“No, thanks,” I tell my grandparents. “I have a paper to write for English class.” I don’t want to stay downstairs—afraid to talk about what’s really bothering me. I want to pretend things are normal for just a little longer.

“Okay, honey,” my grandmother says, but then pauses like she has something to say. I knew it. “And about Wes coming here today . . . ,” she adds gently.

I shift on my feet, and she holds up her hand as if to tell me she’s not judging me. “I’m glad he’s back,” she says. “And I know he came to you. How could he not?”

Her words give me a sense of justice, like someone finally understands. It makes me choke up a bit.

“I didn’t tell him anything about our past,” I say, wanting her to know.

“That must have been hard,” she allows. “But you’re doing the right thing. And Dorothy—”

I cringe at her name.

“—is also right,” my grandmother says. “About the two of you, although I disagree with her assessment as to why it’s gone so wrong in the past. The fact remains. . . .” She tries to pour sympathy into her voice. “It’s over, honey. You have to let it stay over.”

I stare at her and then flick my gaze to my grandfather, who swallows hard. Maybe he chickened out of leading this conversation. Clearly, he echoes her sentiments, though.

Her words now prove she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get my relationship, and she obviously doesn’t get me. I can’t confront either of my grandparents right now. Hopefully, Dr. Warren will have some thoughts on how best to approach this situation. She must have some kind of therapy she can use.

“I won’t stop being Wes’s friend,” I say to my grandmother, a little raw. “I won’t turn my back on him.”

“And we’re not asking you to,” my grandfather says immediately. “Just . . . be careful what you say to him. That’s all we’re asking. Let him move on. Let yourself move on.”

It takes a huge amount of self-control to hide my annoyance. “Sure,” I breathe out. “I’ll do my best.”

The screen on the TV goes dark, the light blinking on the modem. “Well, that’s it,” Pop says, clicking off the power. “Guess we’re going to bed.”

As the storm ramps up its rage outside, I tell them both good night and head upstairs.

? ? ?

I lie in my bed, the Internet out on my computer and my phone a little slow. Wind blows against the window with small taps of rain, growing louder.

My grandparents went into their room an hour ago, so they’re probably asleep. But I’m not tired. And I sure as hell don’t feel like working on homework.

Instead, my mind turns back to the day, to the revelations. I consider contacting Dr. McKee, wondering if it would be smarter to approach him directly and ask if I’d been given an Adjustment. He might have my file from The Program. He might have the key to my life.

But that raises another question: If he did have my file, shouldn’t he have known the truth about me and Wes? That we were broken up? Then again, he got it wrong with Wes. It must not have been in his file either.